


Blood Ties

by haku23



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Edelbert Trick-or-Treat (Fire Emblem), F/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27306805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haku23/pseuds/haku23
Summary: Hubert and Edelgard are vampires living in the 80's, being goth, being dramatic, and considering how they might get vampire married......jk........unless?
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	Blood Ties

**Author's Note:**

> For @smugsnail over on twitter for the Edelbert Halloween exchange!!! 
> 
> I think that maybe I'm a bit off the mark, but I hope you like it anyway. ^_^;; The uhhhhhh slightly spicy stuff is at the end :p

They have been together for centuries; at least, that’s what it feels like. She can scarcely recall a time when he has not been at Edelgard’s side, and while neither of them can be considered sentimental, it sneaks up on her during times like this.

The air is chilled, the leaves crisp as they weave between the graves, but she barely feels it. Hubert rests beside her; both of them sated from the meal they enjoyed earlier and comfortable despite the monstrous appetite they, among other things, share. Aside from the pearl clutching older humans, the young adults of the city have leant in to the Satanic Panic wholeheartedly. She and Hubert are the only real vampires, of course, but there is safety in numbers even falsely inflated as they are. It makes feeding easier than in the past as well-they need only ask and someone is willing to allow it.

“What troubles you, Lady Edelgard?” Hubert asks. His voice is soft like the wind isn’t against her cheek as he bends low to her ear.

He knows well; comfortable as she is reclining against a long dead archbishop’s grave, free finally from the constant gnaw of hunger, she cannot help but feel disgust. They have been together one century, at least, and yet having him here so close comforts her as much as it pains her.

Her silence speaks well enough for her; it always has when it comes to Hubert. His hands, gloved still despite their closeness, cover one of her own. “I am precisely where I am meant to be.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

A foolish act he sees right through. His chuckle is quiet, but he says no more because she has said this more than one or ten times, and yet she will never be able to let him go. He will never want her to, besides.

“Do you suppose they will approve Dorothea’s request?” she asks. The moon is full above them, and elsewhere a dog howls.

“I can see no reason why they will not, though if I recall your uncle was quite against it.”

She turns to him, his face made paler by the harsh light of the moon. His lips are red, from blood or her lipstick she cannot recall, and turn up at the ends. A shared triumph. “A shame, what happened to him.”

“Horrific. He scattered to the wind a deal quicker than anticipated.”

She takes no pleasure in bloodshed, but her uncle’s death had not been a bloody one. It’s funny, somehow, how creatures so obsessed with blood die without spilling a drop of it. She remembers Hubert returning, victorious but gaunt like death had finally claimed him and shivers from the cold.

“Shall we return, your Majesty?”

“I suppose.”

They leave the grave behind, and head out towards their apartment. This late the streets are all but empty but for creatures like them; the population of vampires is small here, in contrast to the capitol and so their steps are the only ones that ring out in the street.

“We will have to keep an eye on her,” Edelgard says as they head up the stairs of the duplex. Hubert nods his agreement, and opens the door for her.

“It has been quite some time since there has been new blood.”

The door closes behind him, and she feels a surge of fondness for him, for the life they’ve built outside of the bureaucracy of the old vampire families, and when she turns on him he only waits. Her hand comes to rest on his chest where his heart once beat. He had always said he would die for her, though this hadn’t exactly been what she had thought death might have meant for him. She dreams of him cut down in a battle for her sake sometimes. The picture is so vivid that she swears it must be a memory, and feels relief when she wakes to his knock on her bedroom door to wake her for the night.

“Your Majesty?”

“Not since you,” she says, and feels his chest move with his quiet laugh. Her eyes rise to meet his own for a second before he looks away, “do you remember it?”

“I do.”

She will not ask if he regrets it; she already has today, and she knows the answer besides that. It is only her own weakness that has her ask him again and again, but still he answers faithfully. “It suits you, somehow.”

A monster, created by her own hands and teeth, for her own uses. Better her own than anyone else’s. Her fingers curl in the fabric of his long wool coat.

“A tool forged by your own power, wielded as you see fit; I suppose it does,” he replies, and touches the back of his fingers to the side of her downturned mouth, “Dorothea will be well taken care of, as I am.”

She can think of no reply. No doubt she will be kept fed, and shown all she needs to be in order to live, but Dorothea isn’t the same as Hubert. He had offered his wrist to her the first day she had asked, his neck years after, and when they had both grown he had offered his life as well. And she had taken it, hadn’t she?

“We will visit her tomorrow, if you would like,” he offers, and she leans her forehead against his chest now. He makes no move, but relaxes as much as she does just to be near to him.

“Perhaps. I want to make sure that she’s thought it through.”

His hum echoes in his chest, “of course. An eternity with Ferdinand may prove trying.”

“That isn’t what I meant. However…”

\--

They make an odd pair, Dorothea and Ferdinand, however perhaps not as odd as Caspar and Linhardt or Petra and Bernadetta, but despite it their home is comfortable and stylish in the modern way that she and Hubert’s isn’t.

The drapes are drawn despite the sun having gone down an hour or so ago, leaving the sitting room to be lit only by the modular lamps that sit upon the end tables. Hubert sits perched on the edge of a floral sofa looking like a dark stain against the brightly coloured flowers.

“Unusual of you to come along, Hubie,” Dorothea comments when she steps out of the kitchen, two dimpled plastic cups-one purple, one red- held in either hand. She feels Hubert’s disdain at the idea of blood being served in such a receptacle but holds her tongue, somehow. She supposes she can understand; it hardly seems fitting to have something so precious handed over like a soft drink.

He tips his head to one side in assent, and takes the cup, ignoring the way Dorothea openly laughs at his expression. “Her Majesty wishes it, and so, here I am.”

Her permed hair bounces as she sits in the recliner across from them, “I don’t suppose you’re here to try to convince me out of anything, right, Edie?”

Something about the way Dorothea smiles while fixing her unwavering gaze upon her always makes her sweat. “It’s a difficult decision.”

“Is it? Was it for you, Hubie?”

“The word ‘decision’ implies I had any other thought in my mind,” he answers, and Dorothea giggles behind her hand.

“As intense as ever. It’s like marriage, isn’t it? “Until death do we part”; I’m quite alright with the death part never coming.”

When neither of them answer she shakes her head, her smile softening, “don’t tell me it’s not; you can’t see yourself with anyone else, right, Edie?”

“I-“

“Your stubborn adherence to speaking honeyed words is troublesome, Dorothea,” Hubert says before she can answer. The seriousness of his words is cut somewhat by him delicately sipping from a purple acrylic cup.

“Well I wasn’t speaking them to you, Hubie.”

“I think that my position on such… matters. Is quite clear,” she answers then takes a sip from her cup as well as Dorothea sighs theatrically.

“Well that’s how I see it. I wouldn’t take this decision so lightly; I’d spend at least an eternity with Ferdie, I think. Is that good enough?”

It will have to be, she supposes. Of course, there is a reason that they have become friends with Dorothea in the past 10 years and it isn’t because she has managed to be the only human who sees them as anything other than the monsters they are.

That she wants to become a monster herself is nothing she has the right to tell her no to anymore, despite Hubert’s insistence on using the age old title long past its prime.

“Once it is done there will be no going back.”

“No, but there isn’t for any of you. I’m making this decision, Edie, no one is making it for me.”

Not like her, forced into an eternal life that she had inflicted upon Hubert as well. A second later her shoulder warms with the heat of Dorothea’s hand upon it. “I’m a grownup, you know.”

“You’ve waited long enough, yes,” Edelgard agrees, “you hardly need my permission.”

“No, but how wonderful would it be to have the Emperor Edelgard’s blessing? Now come let me show you the new gadget I got. I bet I can even find some old music for you.”

\--

Despite the late hour, and the hours that have passed since the discussion her mind returns to the words Dorothea had spoken. Like marriage. There is little doubt their neighbours see them as a couple, but it seems almost frivolous, too much so for something like her.

Hubert is silent at her side, no doubt waiting for her to speak as he usually does, but she cannot find the proper words. Honeyed words, gentle touches, neither of them have ever come easily to her and Hubert takes what she does give without complaint.

Still, he has been with her so long that changing things now seems foolish.

“Hubert,” she says finally.

He turns his ear to her, “Your Majesty?”

“If you wanted more. You would ask, wouldn’t you?”

“In what way? I assure you, whatever it is I feel content with what I have where you are concerned.”

Of course he would say that. “And if I want more?”

“Then I would be pleased to give it,” he answers immediately. The wind is cold tonight, but she feels almost like she could burst into flame. “Though if your desire is motivated only by the thought of my wishes, you needn’t concern yourself.”

“You have been by my side for quite some time.”

Hubert nods, “not quite an eternity.”

It’s only natural that Hubert would see right through her like this. It seems as though they have been circling around the idea for almost as long as an eternity. Her hand doesn’t find his, she doesn’t say anything approaching a kind word, but the space between them is barely there.

“Would you like a ring?” he asks.

She imagines one of his slender fingers encapsulated by a band, a physical representation of their bond. And yet, can such a thing ever be enough to say all that he is to her and her to him? Doubtful. Her thoughts catch hold of her for long enough that they make it home.

Hubert takes her coat, and hangs his own. Bends to help her out of her laced boots, and sets them beside his own by the door. They have little need of tea, and yet he makes some anyway all why she thinks far too hard on things that need not be thought upon for so long.

A ring. Marriage.

Hubert sets her favourite mug on the counter of the modestly sized kitchen while the kettle boils on the stove. She taps her fingers on the dark wood of the table where he reads the newspaper to her in the morning, and imagines a matching band on her own finger.

It isn’t enough, she decides. And yet, it’s too much.

The scent of Bergamot tea floats up to her nose when he places the cup down in front of her. The gentle hum of the fridge fills the silence between them while Hubert sets about preparing himself coffee.

“Hubert, come here.”

He is at her side in half of a second. “Too weak?” he asks, of the tea but she feels it like the prick of a needle.

“No. I only wanted to have you here. Foolish, I know. Come down here.”

He kneels, and she can’t decide between embarrassment and another emotion that finds her hands upon either side of his face, his torso positioned between her slightly spread knees. His lips part, revealing the sharp edges of his canines, and his eyes focus elsewhere, as though meeting her own might reveal more of him than he would like. Positioned as they are he is for once shorter than her; rarely is she able to look down at him, she likes it more than should be admitted.

“Is there something I can do for you, Your Majesty?”

In this era there is little need for bashfulness, people are open about the things they do and yet she still cannot bring herself to be so as well. Women and men ask Hubert to drink from them all the time; but things are different for them.

The thought of a ring leaves her mind, replaced with the image of twin marks upon Hubert’s neck that fit her fangs like the gloves he always wears. They won’t heal, and everyone will see them should they know to look beneath the fabric of his turtleneck.

He will allow it. She needs only to ask, and he will do it.

“I have little use for a ring,” Edelgard admits. His cheeks are cool beneath her hands, but his skin is soft like the silk of her bedspread, “But. There is something else.”

She sees the words rise in his throat and she continues, “wait. You will allow me to finish before you agree.”

“Of course, Lady Edelgard.”

“Look at me,” she says softly enough that it’s only that they can hear the flutter of a moth’s wings that he follows the command. The green of his eyes is dark, her shadow blocking out the light from the window. “How long has it been since I fed from you?”

He swallows, despite having no need to, “Many years.”

“It. There will be a mark.”

“Yes,” he answers, his gaze soft.

“I have yet to finish,” she admonishes, for all that her hands are sliding down to his neck.

He chuckles, and murmurs an apology for his eagerness and she smiles. Of course, she already knew he would agree. But it isn’t that part she worries about.

“I will feed from you, and you from me.”

“I hardly think-“

“Then I will not.”

She watches his face, impassive to anyone else’s eyes but her own, shift as he considers the proposal. The place where his pulse once thrummed is still, but there is some kind of magic to them; the blood they drink will still flow given the right persuasion.

It may be too far. He is quiet for longer than usual, and she feels apprehension creep up her back. Discomfort spurs her on.

“An answer, Hubert.”

“If it is what you wish, Lady Edelgard.”

“And that is all it is? Another of your sacrifices for my sake?” she asks, anger rising like flames in her throat. It has been years since she has felt it like this, especially directed towards him. She dares not fan the embers, it hardly matters; even if this isn’t done things will remain as they always have. Getting angry about it will only make her look foolish even if Hubert of all people has seen her so more than most.

“Is it something so frivolous sounding as love?” he replies, as though she will know his heart better than himself, “such a word cannot encompass the breadth of my feelings. Until I am claimed by darkness, and even after that, all of myself belongs only to you.”

It startles a laugh out of her, and he echoes it. It feels like too much and yet. “Then you understand why I seek this.”

“Of course. But reciprocation is unnecessary, as it always has been.”

“The question is not about its necessity, Hubert.”

One of his eyebrows raises, and she continues unsure of whether it’s anger or something else that she feels now. How could he not have noticed? Had she not been plain enough in her actions? 

Silence stretches between them but she can think of no words to fill it, and he says nothing but to unbutton the top buttons of his shirt in acquiescence to her terms.

“Not here,” she says past the blockage of words she could say.

He follows her lead, despite it feeling as though he can see right through her into the nervousness at her core. She’s been in plenty of fights in her time, and has never been one to be so quiet but this is different somehow even if her will remains just as strong as though she stands before the vampire hunters under her uncle’s employ.

The room she sleeps in is next to Hubert’s own, their beds share a wall and at night if she listens quietly she hears the sound of the soft breaths he takes without needing to as he sleeps. It has been more or less than a century since she has begun to notice him, but to act upon those observations is different; he treats her with such deference she cannot help but worry that he will do anything for her. And yet, she cannot ask him to stop, either no matter how twisted it may be.

He has been into her room before, that part is hardly a surprise however the purpose of it is far outside the usual.

Before she can open her mouth he speaks. “My mind has been made up.”

“I see. Then, sit on the bed.”

The words only just leave her mouth before he complies. Rather than a dark hole in a sea of brightness he perches on the edge of her bed hung with red curtains and looks perfectly at home there despite that she tastes his eagerness in the air.

Her eyes fall upon the splashes of modern décor; a poster from a movie Dorothea had taken her to see, a Polaroid photo rather than a painting of Petra and Bernadetta during a trip to Brigid’s capitol. In the past, she supposes they might not appear in it, but technology has changed enough; even mirrors show their reflection now.

When she crosses the room to join him on the bed he turns, the collar of his shirt falling open just slightly. Her fingertips find the skin there and he makes no move but to exhale softly.

“I won’t take much,” she says, despite already knowing what he will say in response.

“Take as much as you like.”

How perverse of her, that those words spur her into action. He makes no noise when his flesh yields to her teeth, unlike the humans they feed from that rarely allow such a moment to pass without some sort of fanfare.

His blood-or at least, that blood that now runs in his veins-isn’t sweet, but tart like one of the desserts she used to enjoy as a child. Back then, she had complained, but now she thinks if it had been sweet she might never be able to stop. It isn’t the same as drinking from a human at all, no. But she can’t think of the words to describe the experience, nor the knowledge that it is only her teeth that have been allowed this.

When she moves to pull away he finally makes a sound, bereft as though he’s lost something irreplaceable. She doesn’t feel like a monster in this, with him.

“May I?” he asks, and she nods without asking what it is he means to do. His mouth is on hers, gentle until her hands find his hair and her fingernails scrape his scalp in her eagerness to pull him closer, and then he only matches her fervor.

They are both monsters then, their hands clawed and overeager in a singular quest to find something beneath the skin of the other. She might wonder later if he found it, but not now when the wound on his neck still dribbles blood sluggishly into the dip of his collarbone and mixes with the black of his shirt.

The others won’t see it; never does he allow another to drink from his neck, even if it’s only playing at the real thing. It’s like a ring, hidden beneath the fabric of gloves, the impression of a word on paper scribbled out with dark ink and visible only in the right light. Still, they both know if its existence; of all their shared secrets, this is probably the most pleasant.

She loses track of the time, caught up in the feeling of the dam between them finally bursting, so that by the time they pull apart again the bleeding of his neck has stopped. He shivers, the small sliver of space between them like a yawning crevasse that lets the cold in. His eyes are dark, this time not from her shadow but something else.

“I should take my leave, Lady Edelgard.”

Disgusted, then? By the depths of his sacrifice? Unlikely, the limit between them has never existed; the spilling of blood for her sake whether his own or someone else’s has never been thought upon longer than a second. She thinks of listening to his heart stop beating back then, and knowing that it will never start again.

His hand presses against the mark on his neck and he lets out a shuddering breath. His eyes drop closed, and her own search him.

“Forgive me for-“

“Pardon my interruption, Your Majesty, but the. Reciprocation. Will have to wait. To be in such a state, I apologize.”

“No,” she replies before her mind even thinks upon it, “you will continue. Or were your words only meant to placate me?”

It isn’t her words that he challenges, but himself, it’s clear enough to her. But why? If not the sacrifice he makes, then what has him set to flee from her bed?

“If that is what you wish, Your Majesty,” he says after a moment. His voice is steady, but the hand upon his own neck presses hard enough to bruise.

“Do you need a moment?” she asks, beset by guilt all at once. And yet, her eyes continue to return to the place where he has been marked, pleased despite herself.

“You needn’t worry for me.”

His words are confident, and he has never given her reason to doubt them before. He does as she asks without complaint, but nor does she ask the impossible even if such a thing were to exist for them.

His eyes open to meet hers, and he touches his unbloodied fingers to the back of her hand to stop her from undoing the clasp at the top of her shirt. “Allow me.”

His other hand closes the curtains, shielding the act from eyes that don’t exist and plunging them both into a shared darkness.

As with all things he is efficient, but not rough. It is hardly the first time he has undressed her, but even still he averts his eyes except to make certain he has made enough room. In contrast to the way his collar has been pulled away, her own clothing is set just slightly aside as though exposure to the cool air of their unheated apartment might burn her. All the same, goosebumps spread across her skin. Her hair, beginning to fall free from its updo, is brushed aside and she swallows the words she might say just to fill the quiet.

His teeth on her neck are like his lips upon hers; gentle at first, but hungry. She scarcely feels the pain of it, only the coldness of his skin as his cheekbone comes to rest against her shoulder. He moves as though to pull away after what feels like only seconds and her hand catches him by the back of the neck; the feeling is too pleasant to have him stop now and he obliges her as he always does. He has barely drank anything of her, but all the same he stays, lips and tongue and teeth warm against her skin. She understands, then, the humans’ loudness during this even if he never drinks from such an intimate place.

“Hubert,” she says, trying for commanding and falling short of it. Regardless, he answers with a soft sound against her throat. “I.”

It hardly sounds like words, and still he seems to understand even as embarrassment curls in her stomach along with another feeling.

“Of course,” he replies. She hears rather than sees his gloves come off and shudders at the sound of them being cast aside. “May I?”

“Yes.”

A moment passes, long enough for her to begin to feel the chill creep back in from the room, as he finds the buttons of her pants and undoes them just enough to slip his hand beneath the waistband of them. He murmurs an apology for his cold hands when she shivers but doesn’t stop. His breath is a staccato beat against her neck as he moves lower, fingers finding her folds and pressing between them and the sound she makes in her throat surprises her with its suddenness.

“There, Hubert.”

He presses inside of her and moans as though it’s him being touched, but says nothing even when her hand once again finds his hair and pulls too tightly. His hair is soft like his hands and she spreads her legs wider, nearly pushing his own off the bed in her haste.

“I need,” she breathes, using her other hand to press against his and push the heel of his hand against her clit instead of continuing. His words are lost to the haze in her head, but he does as he’s told.

The sound of his fingers plunging into her and his thumb rubbing her clit is obscene, made only moreso by the soft sounds that come from her mouth as well. It isn’t long before she’s shoving her face into his shoulder, crying out as her pleasure peaks and her body snaps forward like a broken bowstring.

He holds her through as if she might actually break, only withdrawing his hand when she slumps against him. She is loath to move, and he seems content to allow her to remain as she is if only for a couple of minutes.

“If you will excuse me, Lady Edelgard.”

“Where are you going?”

He chuckles at her when she pulls back enough to fix him with a dissatisfied stare, “I only wanted to give you a moment to change.”

“I feel as though I could fall asleep right now. However, you are probably right.”

Edelgard pulls away to allow him to move and he stays still, long enough for her to feel the weight of his stare upon her but no longer. He’s already snuck out of the room with gloves in hand before she realizes she might have told him to stay. It would not be the first time he has seen her in a state of undress, after all, but she cannot bring herself to call him back.

Had she gone too far? Should she offer to return the favour? All at once her inexperience is brought into the light of day, and she changes quickly into her nightdress. By the time he returns with two mugs in hand she’s decided her next course of action, but he is quick to rebuff her suggestion.

“That will. Not be necessary,” he replies with a clear of his throat. He has changed as well, and his hair set right. “We have a meeting with the Von Bergliez CEO tomorrow, I have your notes prepared, however if you would look them over prior to retiring for the night I will make any necessary changes to the contract by the morning.”

“I will do so in the morning, as will you.”

“I am afraid I-“

“Of all things, you make me ask for you to spend the night with me?” she laughs at the absurdity of it, and he sets the mugs on the night table. “There will be nothing to look over, no changes to be made; your contract is already as I’ve requested, I have no doubt of it. But I. Would have you rest with me. If you have no objections.”

“No,” he says, and joins her, “no objections.”

\--

Later, Dorothea will proclaim loudly to Ferdinand that “they finally said it!”, and Edelgard’s hand will find the mark upon her neck at the same time Hubert does, as though it was planned. But for now, they sleep until the new night dawns.

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine Doro's house as just like. the most aggressively 80s thing ever. She's got a side ponytail, she's wearing those leg warmers and a brightly coloured windbreaker and you are POWERLESS to stop her. In contrast, Edelgard and Hubert's house is like. "are you sitting on the-" "the black velvet chaise that's incredibly uncomfortable but looks immaculate? yeah I am". Yes, they sleep in separate rooms, no they will NOT be discussing Hubert's items slowly moving over to Edelgard's room after this.
> 
> Also Edelgard isn't forcing Hubert into doing anything, he is just. yknow. Hubert. Concerned he has gotten a boner and thus, he must flee. 
> 
> ARE Edelgard and Hubert centuries old? Or are they just two fucking goths who also happen to be vampires who have made up a cool backstory for themselves about how actually, Edelgard is an Emperor and that's why I am her servant and you need to show her respect no please do not look this up in any history book to look cooler? That is up 2 u. Either way they're enjoying themselves being two fraught creatures........bound together by time, vampirism, and a NEED to be overly dramatic......Goths Just Wanna Have Fun. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed if not I guess then that counts as a trick not a treat? _(:3」∠)_


End file.
